


My Thoughts Remain Below

by lildogie



Series: When My Love Swears [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, Bulges and Nooks, Consensual Kink, Consent Issues, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Fingering, Helplessness, M/M, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Safewords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 16:32:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1695011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lildogie/pseuds/lildogie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the game, the resurrected Bro Strider doesn't have the grasp on things he'd like, especially when it comes to his relationship with Karkat Vantas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Thoughts Remain Below

**Author's Note:**

> Please check the tags, just in case.

You wish he'd fight you a little less, sometimes.

 

A couple years after you were pulled out of the ether onto a familiar but uncannily different Earth, you took up with Karkat Vantas.  You can't put it more romantically.  The little bastard started off eyeing you sideways when he came to hang out with your brother.  Gave you the hairy eyeball like he suspected you of spying on Dave in the shower or something.  But little by little, he started dawdling in the kitchen after Dave was asleep, stopping by and acting surprised to find Dave was out when you knew different.

 

Karkat's a nocturnal creature; you are too, in a way.  He started coming by in the middle of the night, complaining how none of the other humans were awake to entertain him, and you'd do.  You knew he had two troll quadrantmates and plenty of other night owl friends to keep him occupied, but you never called his bluff.  A lot of orphans hanging around after the game, and you could relate.  If he wanted to borrow an older brother on his off hours, you didn't think Dave would begrudge him.

 

But then there were the movies he chose to watch near you while you worked—a little too hot and sweaty to throw on with a casual acquaintance—the questions he asked about human anatomy—intellectual curiosity your finely sculpted ass—and how he'd sidle close when he caught you on the sofa, the artfully unguarded way he'd stretch, and pretend the flash of tummy under the hem of his tee-shirt was an accident, lick his lips and bite them just so when he knew you were watching.

 

Eventually, Dave told you pointedly that Karkat was nineteen in human years, now, and the next time Karkat made a big show of his catlike stretch next to you on the couch in the dead of night, you toppled him onto his back and pinned him there.

 

"Dirk Strider is god," you said.

 

Karkat stared at you, red eyes huge in his gray face.  " _What?_ "

 

"Dirk Strider is god," you repeated.  "Say it back to me, or I'm gonna fuck you through this couch."

 

His eyes got even larger, and just when you were beginning to think that you should be locked away somewhere particularly dark and rat-infested, his face set into a scowl, and he hissed, "I will _never_ say that."

 

So you fucked him, and he cursed and hollered and scored your back like sheet music with those ridiculous claws of his.  And the next night he came back and you did it again.

 

He's got one of them hatefuck-buddies.  And from the start he had that sleepy-eyed kid he likes to cuddle and make out with, then get indignant when you ask if they're fucking.  Since he hasn't asked you to be his referee, or third in a threesome, or whatever that other quadrant consists of, you guess that only leaves matespritship for you.  But if that's how he thinks of you, it's just another on the long list of Things Karkat Vantas Will Never Say.

 

Another of those things is what he actually wants from you.  Forget the nitty-gritty of an interspecies relationship—after a year of sleeping together, he still won't tell you what he wants in bed (or on the floor, or against the wall).  You know the basics: Karkat wants to be held down and ridden hard.  He won't say it to you, and you suspect he can't even admit it to himself, so there's always at least some wrestling involved, sometimes an all-out brawl.  It always ends the same way—he makes sure of that.  And he knows his safe-phrase; you've repeated it to him often enough. 

 

You don't object to a little strife session; don't want the young blood getting soft in peacetime, anyhow.  You don't mind a scene with some bite to it, either, long as everyone involved knows what they're getting into, and comes out satisfied.  You have an understanding, but even so, you wish, just once, he'd lay himself out in front of you and say, "I want you."

 

Tonight is not that night.  Tonight he's got you bruised and leaking before you can get your pants off.  His are undone, but that's it.  He shredded your shirt, and it was one you liked.  You're hard, and you want him, but there's something tired in you, too, a part of you that's moaning about why it has to be this tough. 

 

You're on the futon rolled out in your room.  Dave's out—probably having very vanilla, non-bloody sex with John or Jade or both—and Karkat rolls on top of you, snarling, grasping at you, and you decide you're done for the night.  You reach to pull him off, and get a grip on the back of his neck.  It's softer than you expect, the skin loose.  Your fingers sink in and you really grab hold.

 

Karkat collapses.

 

You freeze.  He's just boneless on top of you, unmoving.  "Jesus Christ," you breathe.  "Did I kill you?"

 

"Let _go._ "  His voice is muffled against your chest.

 

You take him by the shoulders but don't push.  If you've done something to his neck, you'd better not jostle him.  "Are you—?" you begin, but immediately Karkat rears over you, eyes blazing.

 

"You shitstain.  You unparalleled bulgeslurping nookblister.  How _dare_ you—"

 

"Hey," you interrupt.  "Are you hurt?"

 

" _No_ , I'm not hurt!" he shouts, blushing scarlet.

 

"Then what the hell was this?"  You take a gentler hold on the nape of his neck.  He falls over you like a wet blanket.

 

"Yooooou bastard," he growls.

 

"Huuuh," you say slowly.  You massage the loose skin mostly hidden under his hair.  He grunts but doesn't move a muscle.  "How 'bout that?"

 

"Stop it."

 

"Stop what?" you ask.  "Stop scruffing you like a naughty puppy?"  He growls and you roll him onto his back, maintaining your hold.  He goes without the slightest resistance, sprawling out under you.  You've let him put hundreds of marks on you, but the primal urge that seizes you now isn't a matter of retribution.  There's nothing logical in it.  This show of submission makes something in you snarl to own him, to brand him, to make it stick.  You take a deep breath to rein yourself in.  "Maybe I'll just teach you a lesson while you're in a receptive frame of mind."

 

His eyes widen and the color in his cheeks darkens.  "You wouldn't."

 

You pull his head back and lean down over him.  "You wanna pay me a little compliment, I could letcha off easy."  He narrows his eyes.  "Other'n that, I don't see how you're gonna stop me."

 

He catches his breath when your hand slips under his shirt.  His smooth abdomen rises and falls with agitated breaths.  You slide your hand down, past his open belt and fly, straight under his boxers.

 

Karkat squawks.  "What do you think you're doing?"

 

His bulge smears lubrication on your hand as you reach past it.  You part the lips of his nook and your hand almost skates straight off his body into his jeans.  You snort.  "Exactly what you want me to, by the feel of you."  Karkat growls and you give a little tug to his scruff.  "Behave, now."

 

It's hard to tell fury from lust in the crimson on his cheeks; you usually see both at once.  "I don't take orders from—"  You push two fingers into him and he barely manages to bite down on a cry, his eyes screwing shut.  You push in to the knuckles, feel his entrance squeeze around you, the answering twinge in your dick.  You curl your fingers, stroke the upper wall of his nook, just where you know he likes it.  His teeth dig into his lower lip and he gives a rumbling groan to cover, but you still hear his chirp.

 

You kiss his throat.  "Don't hide those sweet little noises, darlin'.  You know how cute they are."

 

"Fuck you," he snarls.  "I'm gonna beat the—Nh!"  You flutter your fingers against that spot inside him, just north of where his bulge begins on the outside.  "Ah, ah—ah!"  His muscles contract around your fingers.  His legs twitch, but he seems genuinely incapable of moving them.  He chirps again, louder.

 

You nip at his throat.  "That's what I like to hear."  You rub the base of his bulge with your thumb as your fingers keep up a constant vibration inside.  His pulse accelerates.  You feel it through your lips, your fingers.  You lick his skin, suck a good, dark mark into his neck.  Karkat's strangled growl ends in another sharp sound as you force in a third finger.

 

When you lift your head, he's watching you through half-lidded eyes, pupils blown.  "You're disgusting," he murmurs through glistening lips.  "You're getting off on this, aren't you?"

 

You stretch your fingers against the tight clench of his nook.  He mewls, and the look he gives you, this terrible, wrenching, wanting look, freezes you for a moment.  You avert your eyes, pull your fingers out, concentrate on shoving his jeans down one-handed.  "Yeah," you say, "I'm a sick man, gettin' excited over the idea of fuckin' somebody without gettin' mauled for my trouble."  You roll the two of you onto your sides and use your foot to push his jeans the rest of the way down and off his legs, then roll back on top of him, spread his thighs, and press up between them.

 

"Animal," Karkat says.  "Not even going to take your pants off?"

 

You rise onto one elbow and one knee, shove your jeans and boxers down over your ass.  "Love to, sweetheart, but if I loose my grip on you, I'll get clawed half to death, so this is all you get."

 

"Such an honor."

 

You lift his leg, angling his hips up, and press down over him, slide your cock deliberately through the wet folds of his nook, grind against his bulge, but pull back before it can wrap around you.  Karkat's breath hitches, but his challenging stare never wavers.  "Last chance," you say.  "You cry mercy, I'll let you off."

 

He bares a full set of brilliant white fangs.  "Never."

 

He's so tight it almost hurts as you push in.  The troll nook isn't quite built with you in mind.  Karkat's eyes close and a thin whine escapes through his clenched teeth.  He chirps as you seat yourself inside him, and annoyance flickers across his face.  You roll your hips and his brow furrows, another short warble escaping him.  You've always liked that sound; he hates it.  Normally, he'd have a fist jammed in his mouth, or be clawing some sensitive part of you to distract you.

 

"You can—Nn!"  He bites his lip as you start moving.  "Let go of my neck, nnnow."

 

"Ask me nice."

 

"Go fuck yourself on a coat rack."  His voice is thin and uneven.  Unconsciously your fingers tighten in his scruff.  He whines.  "Let go."

 

"No, I'mma learn you some manners, first."  You hiss as his nook squeezes you and snap your hips faster.  You earn a sweet little moan on each stroke that sets you on fire.  You seal your lips to the other side of his throat, give him another crimson mark to match the first.

 

"At least—let me—use my hands, you—bastard—Ahh!"

 

"Your hands are even worse than your mouth," you growl.  You rise onto your elbow again to look at him.  His mouth is open, brow furrowed, eyes hazy.  He looks so sweet and lost it hurts you.  Then he catches himself and scowls at you.

 

"You got a real attitude problem, you know that?" you huff.  "Seein' the position you're in, you might give sweet talk a try."

 

He sneers.  "If this is all you've got, I'm not sweating."

 

"You want me to make you sweat?"

 

He rolls his eyes.  "Let's not waste our breath on science fiction."

 

You grind your teeth.  "Guess you got a point.  'S not much of a lesson if I keep on giving you what you want.  Long's I got you feelin' compliant, maybe I'll take a crack at that other hole you're so stingy with."

 

That gets his attention.  "Wha—No.  Don't... don't even think about it."

 

You ratchet his leg up higher and roll your hips in tight circles.  "I'm thinking about it now.  Got a pretty little mental picture goin'."

 

"No," he says again.  "That's sick.  The waste chute isn't meant for that."

 

You groan as he tightens around you.  "You sure?  'Cause it feels to me like you like the idea."  You kiss his open lips and pull away before he can bite you.  "That where you trolls draw the line?  That mean you've never had anything up your ass?  Not so much as a finger?"

 

"Of course I—mm!—haven't!"

 

You nip his earlobe.  "You even tighter back there?"  He chirps as you lick behind his ear, nibble the edge.  There's tension along his inner thigh where you've got hold of it, but the rest of his body is lax, a jarring contrast to the searing clench of his nook.  "Maybe I'll just stretch you out a little."

 

Karkat whimpers.  His eyes close, the crease between his eyebrows eases, and his lips part.  He breathes in shallow pants, afraid to get in the way of what's coming.  It makes your chest tight.  You've never seen him look that way without being driven to give him everything he needs, devoted to getting him there.  It's the same now, but you lock your jaw and resist.  You slow your thrusts, control your disappointment as you watch the tension seep back into his expression, then worry.

 

You pull out and he opens his eyes to stare at you.  The sheets are stained with cherry red genetic material.  A muscle in his leg jumps against your wrist.  You clench your stomach against the urge to push back inside.  You won't last against the look he's giving you, so you grab his shoulders and flip him onto his stomach.  He starts to move, but you scruff him again before he can get his arms under him, and he flops down with a grunt.

 

"What are you doing?"

 

You run your other hand under him, wrap it around his neglected bulge.  He gives a muffled moan as you stroke him.  The thick, slippery tentacle writhes in your grasp, tries to wrap around your fingers, but after a few pulls, you draw away.  His growl ends on a suspiciously high note. 

 

"What's that, darlin'?" you ask.  You tilt his hips up and fit yourself snugly between his legs.  Your cock nestles up against his nook, tip nudging the base of his bulge.  He's flaming hot, dripping material and lubrication.  You slide back and forth, spreading more of his fluids over you.  "You say you'd like me to get all lubed up, then fuck you good and hard in the ass?"

 

His nook twitches, and your dick jerks in response.  "No," he moans.  "God, is there no limit to your human depravity?"

 

You grind against him, feel him shiver and jerk.  "Not a one.  Damn, baby, I'm gettin' all worked up thinkin' about it.  How I'm gonna stretch out that sweet little hole.  Put my mark on you good and proper, see if that sorts out this behavior problem you got."

 

He gasps when your slippery fingers spread his cheeks.  The dark gray-pink ring between them twitches when you touch it.

 

"S-stop," he says.

 

You trace your index finger around the edge, spreading his own lubrication over it.  You press the pad of your finger over the tightly closed opening.  With your other hand you knead his scruff.  "Stop, what?"

 

He groans.  "Please," he says in a tiny voice.

 

You pull at the edge of that little ring of muscle.  His nook clenches above the base of your dick.  "Couldn't hear you too good."

 

"Please... don't..."

 

"Don't what?" you ask innocently.  "Do this?"  You push your index finger in.

 

Karkat gives a small cry, then a deep growl of rage.  "You... you shit-flinging ape reject!  Ah—!"  He gasps as you push it in deeper, twist it around.  "I can't fucking believe you—No, no, don't—hnn!"  Your second finger seems to render him speechless.  You work the two slowly back and forth, getting the feel of him, and he tries and fails not to moan.

 

"Feels pretty good in there," you drawl, though you're so worked up you're rutting against him.  "Think you're about ready for my dick?"

 

"Oh, god, no."

 

"Sure you are, baby.  You want me to open you up, make you scream, don't you?"  His muscles clench around your finger and he makes a desperate, strangled sound.

 

"Nooo," he moans.  "You're too big.  Too hard.  Your stupid human parts will tear me up."

 

"That a fact?"  Your hips stutter.  "You too delicate to take me, Karkat?"

 

"I... I can't..."

 

"So you want me to let you loose?"

 

"No!" he sobs.  "Dammit, _please_ , Dirk, fuck me, fuck my nook, god, I can't take it anymore, fucking—"

 

He screams through clenched teeth as you sink into his nook, which almost masks the sound you make, because it really _does_ hurt, he's so tight.  He snarls when you pull out your fingers, but you can't focus on moving them and fucking him, so you push in your thumb instead, and use that hand to steady his back as you pound into his nook.

 

He's prostrate under you.  Your hand looks large and menacing at the back of his neck.  The sounds he makes are broken and wrenching, like he's so far past his limits he can't stand it.  It scares you how powerful you feel, like you're alone in the cockpit of a bomber, screaming across the sky, and could lose control at any minute.  You're not sure you haven't already.

 

Karkat convulses suddenly, and sobs out your name.  You slam into the impossible tightness of his nook twice more, hear his ragged moan each time, and lose yourself, shoot deep inside him.

 

 

 

Sobriety sets in fast.  You release Karkat's scruff and push yourself off him, carefully pull out.  He whimpers softly, but doesn't move.

 

"Karkat."  You touch his shoulder.  Nothing.  When you pull, he rolls easily onto his back, limbs slack.  He looks up at you blankly, like it's an effort to keep his eyes open.  You swallow hard.

 

He grunts as you gather him up off the stained sheet into your lap.  There's a thin blanket folded against the wall; you pull it over and tuck it around him.  He nestles into your arms, small and quiet.  It doesn't feel right.  You love when he lets you hold him, the rare occasions he lets you be tender without fighting it, but instead of happy, you're afraid.  The quiet seems to stretch an awful long time.

 

Finally, he stirs.  "Dad," he mumbles.

 

Your eyes widen. You've gone and broken him so he's calling for his daddy.

 

"My dad," Karkat murmurs, "used to pick me up like that.  When I was being a little shit."

 

"He what, now?"

 

"It made me furious.  But sometimes you need a pupa to move before he gets hit by a damn shuttle, or get his idiot hand away from the alternating current terminal."  You can't quite see his face.  He shifts, tugs the blanket closer.  "I know grubs aren't easy to handle.  Pupae are probably a bigger pain in the waste chute."  He snorts.

 

You lean your head back against the wall and close your eyes, take a deep breath.

 

"Not really the kind of thing you expect as an adult," Karkat says, "but—"

 

"Karkat," you say.

 

"Yeah?"

 

"What do you want from me?"

 

"What?"

 

You exhale slowly.  "If what you need is a daddy, I'll be that.  You want a brother, not a lover, that's fine."

 

"A _daddy_ ," he repeats.  "What the fuck are you talking about?"

 

"I can't keep guessing," you say.  "I can't keep wondering whether you hate me, not knowing if I'm hurting you, not knowing why the hell we're doing what we are.  I'd do anything for you.  But you gotta tell me what it is you want."

 

He pushes away from your shoulder.  "Shit," he whispers.  "Are you crying?"

 

"No."

 

"Ohhh, _fuck_."  Karkat slides out of your lap to kneel in front of you, hands on your shoulders.  "Dirk, no.  Please don't."

 

"I'm not."

 

You've never seen the expression on his face.  He's genuinely concerned.  "Is this...  how you felt the whole time?"

 

"I've been confused," you say.  "I still am."

 

He drops his head, fingers tightening on your shoulders.  "Why didn't you stop me?"

 

"Stop you."

 

"Or break up with me?"

 

"I don't wanna break up," you say immediately.

 

He peeks up at you.  "Are you sure about that?"

 

"Yes."  Of that much, if nothing else.

 

His fangs dent his bottom lip, his eyes narrowing, and the conflict plain on his face is so cute you wanna die.  "It never..." he says.  "You always seem so calm, so in control.  It never occurred to me you might not be... _okay_ with... everything."  He looks away.  "I'm sorry."

 

Of course you seemed in control.  That's what you _do_.  You control the situation.  Or at least you did until you died, and your baby brother and his friends went on creating and destroying universes without you.  Maybe you've lost the knack.  Down a damn mine shaft.

 

"It's not your fault," you say.

 

Karkat sits back on his heels, eyes still downcast.  "No," he says, "it is.  Trust me, I have a talent for fucking things up exactly this way.  God _damn_ it..."

 

"Hey," you say.  "Look, stop that—"

 

"I thought you liked it like this," he says.  "I didn't want to hurt you."

 

"I do, but—Hey, look at me."  You put a finger under his chin.  He resists a moment before meeting your eyes.  His mouth is a tight, miserable line, and there's a suspicious shine to his eyes.  The most honest expression you've seen on his face, and it had to be this one.  You ought to be ashamed of the lift it gives you that he's letting you see it.  "I'm big enough to take care of myself.  I should have been taking better care of _you_.  That's what scares me."

 

"I don't _need_ taking care of!"

 

"Doesn't matter if you do.  That's not the point."

 

A familiar scowl settles over his features.  "I'm an adult _troll_.  Not a human wiggler looking for a surrogate lusus.  I wouldn't have let you hurt me."

 

But you weren't sure.  You weren't sure and you weren't in control and you went ahead, anyway.  The fact that he's fine is none of your doing.

 

Karkat sighs.  "Wow.  We are a fucking mess."

 

Truer words.  You pause.  "We?"

 

"Yes, _we_ ," he says.  "What the fuck did you think we were doing, exactly, all this time?"

 

"I don't _know_ ," you say.  "I..."

 

His shoulders slump, and his brow wrinkles.  "What can I do?  Will you let me fix it?"

 

It's strange to realize that he means it.  That there's a 'we' he cares to mend.  Should you have known?  Did you miss it?  "Tell me where I stand," you say.  "Tell me what this is to you."

 

"I, uh..."  He scowls and gnaws on his lip.  Then he takes a deep breath and puffs up his chest, but keeps his eyes averted.  "I like fighting you for it.  And losing.  And having you control the... control _me._   I like you making me beg.  I... like begging you for what I want."

 

"You do."

 

"Yeah," he growls.  "So what?"

 

"So nothin'.  I'm cool with that."

 

"Really?  Because the idea that I've been torturing you for half a sweep doesn't appeal."

 

"Being with you isn't torture.  Wondering about it is."  He makes a noncommittal sound.  "But isn't that more the kind of thing you should do with your hate-boyfriend?" you ask.

 

He stares at you.  "Are you out of your sponge?  I could never let Eridan get that over me.  I can't trust him with that kind of thing."

 

"So you trust me."

 

"If I didn't, I'd kill you."

 

"Good to know.  What about your pile-pal?"

 

"Of course I trust Gamzee."  He can't say the kid's name without smiling, which stings a little.  "But he and I aren't concupiscent.  I've told you that a hundred times."

 

"Yeah..."

 

He glowers into your eyes.  "You wanna know where you stand?  I want you as my matesprit.  Are you interested, or are you set on being my lusus?  Because you're not an eight-foot crustacean, so I don't even know how that'd work.  Plus, you're already Dave's, and that'd be awkward."

 

"I don't wanna be your eight-foot crustacean," you say.

 

"So do you want my stinking flushed quadrant, or not?"

 

"I want it."

 

"It's yours."

 

"Well, alright."

 

You look at each other for a long moment, then Karkat pushes his arms between you and the wall and hugs you, tucking his head between your neck and shoulder.  "Are you horribly emotionally scarred?"

 

"Sure, but not by you."

 

He grunts.

 

"Not sayin' it isn't fun puttin' you in your place.  But then I worry whether that's where you wanna be."

 

His arms tighten around your neck.  "Listen," he mutters.  "I'm... not good at... openness.  It's never been my thing."

 

You put your arms around him in turn.  "Yeah.  Me, neither."

 

"I'll try, though."

 

You stroke his back pensively.  Some of the tension eases out of the pair of you.  "So what'd you think of the scruffing?  'Cause it scared the shit outta me."

 

He grumbles indistinctly.  "It was kinda frightening being that helpless.  I really couldn't move.  At _all._ "

 

"I'm real—"

 

"No," he interrupts, "I enjoyed it.  I only could because I trust you to take care of me when I can't take care of myself."  He swallows.  "Since I can, it was... hot."

 

"No kiddin'," you say.

 

"I feel like shit that it scared you, though."

 

"If I know what I'm dealin' with, it won't."

 

Karkat shifts against you.  "Want some more honesty?"

 

"Shoot," you say.

 

"You talking shit about what you were going to do to me, to punish me, was amazing.  I thought I was going to die it was so good."

 

Your eyebrows rise.  You grunt to show you're listening.

 

"I was hoping you'd actually do it, though."

 

You take a deep breath and blow it out.  "Yeah, that's somethin' you gotta actually tell me beforehand."

 

"And if I do... you'll do it?"

 

The eagerness in his voice stirs you, though you know you're not ready to be stirred again, just yet.  You feel like you've just been in a fight with something much bigger than you, and you're not sure if it's down for the count.  "You give me some guidelines, I'm game for most things," you say.  "I could stand if you were sweet like this once in a while, though.  Flushed quadrant rules allow that?"

 

"Of course they do.  Doesn't mean I do."

 

"Fair enough."

 

Karkat grumbles into your skin.  "Is this...  What you need after a... After?"

 

You nod.  "Pretty much."

 

"I'm not the cuddly type."

 

"Except with your clown friend."

 

"That's pale, it's different."

 

"Cool."

 

"But I'll give it a shot..."  He says something more, but it gets lost in your hair.

 

"What?"

 

"Nothing."

 

You wait for a minute.  Then you scruff him.  He collapses with a surprised huff, and you scoop him into your lap where you can see his face.  He frowns darkly at you.  You release your hold.  "What'd you say?" you ask.

 

He folds his arms and scowls at the wall.  You take hold again.

 

"Dirk!"

 

You shrug.  "You like when I take control.  ...Right?"

 

His eyes flicker up to yours, then away again.  He sniffs.

 

"Well, I'm comfy," you say, which is a lie.  "We could just sit here and pale-cheat on your boyfriend all night."

 

He looks at you, wide-eyed.  "That's _not_ what we're doing."

 

"So enlighten me," you say, massaging his nape while you stroke his stomach with your other hand.  "Why're you gonna break your back and be nice to me once in a while?"

 

"Because," he growls, "I'm flushed for you, and I want you to be happy.  Is that good enough?"

 

"It'll do," you say, and release his scruff.  You're positive you're more relieved about it than he is.

 

He glares at you, then smirks.  "Besides, you'll perform better if I humor you."

 

"Will I, now?"

 

"You'd better.  This conversation is giving me pan rot."

 

He slides an arm under yours and pats your shoulder.  His other hand strokes your chest, then falters over your heart.  He catches your eye and his face softens.  As beautiful as his expression is, you have to look away.  He pets you there, just over your heart, until your pulse slows.

 

"As long as we're accommodating your soft human insufficiencies..." he says.

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Let's choose a safeword _you_ won't feel like a complete idiot saying."

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel here: [Sing Me Now Asleep](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2658914)


End file.
